Pottered
by Killing Curse Eyes
Summary: Short side stories, missing scenes, and brief looks into characters from my fanfic Riddled.
1. Hermione's Parents

Pottered

By Killing Curse Eyes

Chapter 1: Hermione's Parents

-o-

After arriving home from her New Years sleep over at Harry's Hermione spent the day laying in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about what she had said. Did her parents accept magic? They'd asked about the castle, and her grades, but she realized their letters never once asked about what she was learning in her classes. And they seemed overjoyed when she decided to keep up with some of her muggle classes.

She knew they loved her. They told her often enough. In every letter they assured her they were proud and that they missed her terribly. But were they really proud of her? Would they have preferred if she was a muggle (or squib, if Harry and Tom's hypothesis was right) like them?

"Mum?" Hermione called from her room one evening before bed. "Dad?"

"Yes, dear?" Her mother answered loudly from the living room. Hermione slowly made her way out of her room and to her parents. She was wearing a long light blue night gown and her bushy hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Can I speak with you guys about something?" she asked hesitantly. "Something important?"

Oliver and Mai Granger exchanged looks, but nodded. "Of course dear." Oliver told her. "You know you can discuss anything with us."

Hermione sat down in her favourite chair and took a deep breath. "Before I got my letter... How did you feel about my magic? When you weren't sure what it was?"

Hermione bit her lip when her parents took awhile to answer.

"To be honest we were scared." Mai admitted. "We had no clue what was going on."

"I don't know how to tell you this Hermione. Just know that we've always loved you and always will." Oliver added.

"We're very science based people, Hermione, you know that. But we seriously considered that maybe we were wrong that maybe... you were..." Mai trailed off.

"Yes?" their daughter asked nervously. She had a bad feeling about what they were going to say.

"We thought you were... _Possessed_, or something." Oliver answered after a pause.

"Like by the devil?" Hermione asked for clarification. Her parents nodded. "But you're atheists!"

"I know. We didn't believe in god or the devil before, and now that we have an explanation we still don't, but for a time... we were really questioning things." Oliver ran a hand through his short and slightly curly black hair.

"Oh merlin..." Hermione whispered.

"We always loved you Hermione." Mai assured her. "And we always will."

"You mean it?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

"Of course." Her parents smiled warmly.

"Would you have preferred if I didn't have magic?" Hermione asked the next difficult question.

"I- to be honest dear, magic scares us. You can do so many things we can't even understand. There are so many ways your people could hurt us, and we'd never know." Oliver said.

"So you would have." Hermione said blankly. Her mother stood up and walked over to her. She bent down to her knees and put her hands on Hermione's shoulders. She stared her straight in the eye.

"Yes, Hermione. We would have. But that doesn't matter. It wouldn't make us love you any more or less." Mai said. "We just had so many dreams for you, and now we've found out you'll end up doing something we can never hope to understand.

"Our family will never get to see you graduate, or go to university and we can't even tell them why. It's... it's hard. They might never see you get married, and the more you integrate yourself in that world, the more you step out of ours. You step into a world we don't understand and can't help you navigate."

Hermione sniffled. Her parents didn't want her to be a witch. Harry was right.

"Shhh, baby girl. It's okay. We understand you can't help it." Oliver soothed. "It's who you are, and while we can't... understand _magic_, we know it's part of you, and we love that part of you, too."

Hermione nodded and hugged her parents for a long time. After several minutes she silently extracted herself from their embrace and went to her room. She had a lot to think about.

-o-

AN: The oneshot I promised for 100 reviews! It's short, but all Pottered stories will be. They're just missing scenes, some short, like this, but others might be longer. It's also late, but I was trying to make it longer before I gave up and decided fuck it.

I view Hermione's parents as decent muggles, but still inherently scared of what they cannot understand. Especially when understanding the world is important to them. They had their whole ideologies flipped on their heads.

Thanks for reading,

Eliza


	2. Lord Voldemort

Pottered

By Killing Curse Eyes

Chapter 2: Lord Voldemort

(Set circa Riddled Chapter 27-28)

-o-

"Crucio!" Voldemort hissed, pointing his yew and phoenix feather wand at one of his servants. He held the man under the spell for almost a minute, the screams music to the dark lord's ears.

The man lay on the ground, whimpering out apologies between gasps for breath.

"Get out of my sight." Voldemort ordered from his throne like seat. The man scampered out of Malfoy Manor's drawing room, but the rest of the death eaters remained kneeling near the exit. Seeing this, he clarified his order."All of you, you imbeciles!"

The remaining death eaters backed out of the drawing room, murmuring apologies. Voldemort sighed. Good servants were almost impossible to find. Perhaps they were simply out of practice, so to speak. He had only just regained his body and called for them days ago. They had spent over a decade without him.

He was no fool, their assurances that they knew he would return to them were nothing but hollow words. He didn't blame them for believing him dead. His body was destroyed, the mark faded to the point it wasn't detectable, he did not contact them... Of course they thought he was gone. They didn't know of the lengths he went to to prevent his demise.

He still punished them for their lack of faith.

Their reactions to his return were varied. Oh, they all assured him they were most pleased with his return, but of course many of those promises were _lies_. He was aware that some no longer believed in the cause. He would watch them carefully, but put them to use on dangerous or non-vital missions.

Others were over joyed. These were the fanatics. They revered him as a deity, rather than a powerful leader. He had yet to raid Azkaban, but he was sure Bellatrix Lestrange and a handful of others would fall in this group.

Some believed in his cause, but weren't happy with the end of their freedom. His disappearance gave many of his followers the chance to gain positions of power in society, and now they were forced to play the role of henchman once more. This group was the most numerous, but they would soon remember their place and get over their resentment. They were the most useful. Their positions would be of use, unlike the fanatics, most of whom had spent the years locked away, undoubtedly driven to near insanity.

The dark lord stood from his almost-throne and started pacing the length of the room. Thoughts of his servants brought him back to the night of his revival, something his mind dwelled on often.

At first he had been horrified (perhaps _terrified_, even) to discover the Potter child knew that the version of himself parading around as his own grandson was a horcrux. If his foolish teenage self had trusted her with that much, she undoubtedly knew that he had several others. He couldn't recall if he had plans for the vessels he would use for his future horcruxes at that age, but regardless, that was vital information in the hands of the enemy.

His momentary panic was soon abated by the realization that Harriet Potter _cared_ about the life of his diary horcrux. She would not go about destroying his other horcruxes and putting her precious Tom in jeopardy, and even if she did, so long as Tom lived, so did he.

The brat's expression when he taunted her with this information was priceless. The girl obviously hadn't thought of it.

The chit surprised him though. Obviously his other self was teaching her well. Challenging her to a duel had been a foolish move. She was no match for him when he was serious, but he had been playing with her. He wanted to humiliate her, like she had him all those years ago. He knew it wasn't truly the girl who defeated him, but rather her filthy mongrel of a mother. The rest of magical Britain, unfortunately, was too moronic to realize a child who had yet to reach her second birthday was incapable of the magic necessary to deflect the killing curse.

While his decision to play with the girl ultimately led to her escape, he could not deny she had given him valuable information. Harriet Potter was not the one with the power to destroy him.

He would need to verify it for himself, of course. It was possible she was lying, trying to trick him into releasing her. Even if she wasn't, she would not be permitted to live.

If Harriet Potter spoke the truth, then she was not his main threat. No, he would need to look into the other candidate—Neville Longbottom.

It would be no easy task to verify the contents of the prophecy. It was made to Dumbledore, by a prophet living in his school, so that avenue was closed, leaving the record of it in the department of mysteries.

Rookwood would serve him well in this matter. The man was an unspeakable. If the man could not retrieve it himself, he would be able to help facilitate infiltration and provide pertinent information about the nature of prophecies.

In the mean time, he would have his followers learn all they could about the Longbottom boy.

After all, the dark lord thought, if the girl lied, there was no harm in learning what he could about a potential enemy while he waited to confirm the prophecy, and if she told the truth, it would be time well spent.

-o-

AN: Been awhile, huh? Heheh... Well, the next one will probably feature Dumbledore, and come out after I've finished year five. Because though it would probably be set before then, timeline wise, spoilers.

I might feature another character in between, but who knows? These are things I write as they come to me.

XO

Eliza


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